


For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams.

by churchofyourcurves



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 3x07 spoilers, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6183985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churchofyourcurves/pseuds/churchofyourcurves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 3x07.</p><p>Clarke dreams of a city of concrete and light, and Lexa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> So I got fairly emotional about the last episode and this kind of just came out of me. God knows how much grief or closure we'll get in the show (for those of you who are continuing the show), this is just my effort of getting some of that.

“Clarke.” Lexa’s voice is like a bell in Clarke’s ears, clear and strong.

Clarke turns. She doesn’t recognise where she is - it looks like the Earth they’d been shown in History class aboard the Ark. It’s all concrete, and glass, and steel; a complete contrast to the Earth she knows, where nature has reclaimed everything from humanity.

Lexa is standing there in full warrior garb, just as defiant and beautiful as she had been the first time Clarke saw her. Her face is clean of paint and the gear cog that usually sits between her eyebrows isn’t there anymore.

She looks out of place here; it’s detached and clinical right to its core, in a way that Lexa never was.

“Lexa.”

A flash - _blackness across her palms, seeping into her skin, the slippery thickness of blood_.

“You-you died,” Clarke says. It’s an odd realisation to have, and the oddness of it keeps the grief at bay, as if it’s behind a pane of glass. She knows it’s there, but it hasn’t touched her yet.

“Death is not the end, Clarke.”

“I’m dreaming,” Clarke realises.

“Perhaps.” Lexa walks to the railing that borders the water’s edge; beyond it is a river with water so still that it looks like a mirror. “But dreams sometimes open our eyes to the truth.”

Clarke joins her at the railing. Lexa looks just as graceful and authoritative as always, and Clarke finds herself staring at the Commander’s profile instead of the water in front of them.

“I can’t remember falling asleep.”

“It took a long time.”

“You can...?” A day ago, Clarke would have dismissed the idea that Lexa could watch over her from beyond, and definitely dismissed the idea that Lexa could talk to her in dreams, but things have changed. “You can see me.”

Lexa nods solemnly. “We are connected, Clarke.”

She turns to Clarke and gently takes her hand, uncurling the fist that Clarke isn’t aware she made. She holds Clarke’s palm open to the sky and traces something in her palm - an eternity symbol.

“Things are about to get very difficult, Clarke.” She continues to trace the symbol as her voice tightens with pain, “I am sorry that I am not there to help.” She reaches the centre of the eternity symbol and stops, taps her fingertip there, and then closes Clarke’s palm again. “I wish I could be.”

“Lexa,” Clarke says, and there’s a note of desperation that rings through her voice. The grief feels closer now, bearing down on this moment, and she knows that soon it will hit her like a wave.

Lexa curls her hand around Clarke’s closed one. “You have the key, Clarke. You are the only one who can stop it.”

“Lexa, wait-”

Lexa kisses her, softly, and for a moment Clarke forgets about the building turmoil at the back of her mind. Lexa leans against her forehead, and Clarke can feel her breath across her face. She breathes in Lexa, savouring the smell of woodsmoke, grass, and newly shed leaves.

“We will meet again,” Lexa promises.

Clarke wakes up.

Murphy glances at her out of the corner of his eye. He’s crouched over where they had lit the fire the previous night, poking at it with a stick as if he’s looking for something in the ashen remains.

They took shelter in a cave last night to try and get some of the sleep that they both desperately needed, but Murphy looks even less rested than she feels. His eyes sit in deep, bruised hollows and take in his surroundings with dull disinterest.

Clarke pushes herself up. She’d fallen asleep leaning against a stone pillar and the rock bites at her back, causing her muscles to give a responding ache. She can hear the animals start to converse outside; dawn must be coming soon.

“How long was I asleep?” Her voice claws its way through her throat, rasping against the stale saliva that has coated it.

“One hour,” he replies. He drops the stick and brushes off his hands. “We have to go.”

“Right.”

He throws over her bag and she catches it with one hand. He’s already packed all of their things, and she’s surprised that she hadn’t been woken up by him poking her with a stick instead of the dead fire.

He stands and his hair falls in front of his face, but he doesn’t bother to push it back. “You ready?”

She looks up at him and there’s more to the question than the words. She knows that if she says no right now, he won’t try to convince her to go. He won’t remind her of her responsibilities, or tell her she’s being selfish, or demand better from her.

The memory of Lexa’s finger tracing over her palm tingles on her skin, and she squeezes her hand shut.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> Join me at [churchofyourcurves](http://churchofyourcurves.tumblr.com/)


End file.
